


Calm Down, Greg, It's Soccer

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Summer is supposed to be when Bellamy gets a break from Clarke Griffin, Eden Prep's debate adviser and perpetual thorn in his side. She's definitelynotsupposed to show up at the soccer league he coaches, and he's definitely not supposed to be curious why she's here or want to talk to her.None of that is supposed to be happening, but here they are.





	Calm Down, Greg, It's Soccer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TracyLorde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TracyLorde/gifts).



> Giveaway fic for TracyLorde, who wanted rival soccer or debate coaches, and I figured why not both.

Clarke Griffin showing up to the coaches' meeting for the summer soccer league is, if Bellamy's honest, one of those things that sucks so much he's not sure how he didn't have stress dreams about it. Surely, some part of his brain must have conjured this, must have put it up in his list of nightmares.

But it never did, so it's all the worse when he walks in and finds her already there, chatting with Indra like she's always been here.

Clarke is already the thorn in Bellamy's side for nine months of the year. She's an art teacher over at Eden Academy, and their debate coach, which is the only reason Bellamy ever has to interact with her. Ark is Eden's rival in the way that a mosquito is a human's rival; they're not on the same side, they don't like each other, but Eden could probably crush Ark without noticing, and Ark is at best a minor annoyance. He's pretty sure they don't _like_ losing to Ark, but if they do lose, they're still rich and prestigious and privileged. Ark is a fine school, for what it is, but they don't have the money or the resources to be anything more, which means that every victory against Eden feels like sticking it to the rich kids.

As a teacher, Bellamy maybe shouldn't get in on that, but he went to Ark too, back in the day. And whatever makes the kids work harder is good by him.

He definitely shouldn't actually dislike Clarke, because it's not really a big deal, the whole rivalry thing, but she gives as good as she gets, and that's what he can't stand. In movies, when it's haves versus have-nots, everyone is rooting for the have-nots, and it's weird to meet an adult who wants the rich kids to win. Not that she should really be rooting for _his_ team, but she has to see how much of an advantage Eden has over Ark. It's not really a fair fight, and she never seems interested in acknowledging that, in admitting how much less impressive her wins are than his.

Okay, so he sounds kind of like an asshole when he puts it like that, but still. Clarke rubs him the wrong way, and he doesn't enjoy spending time with her, and now she's here, coaching soccer, which is _his_ thing. He's been doing it since he was seventeen. What gives her the right to show up here now?

There's only one way to find out.

"Bellamy," says Indra, giving him a nod as he joins them. "How's your sister?"

"She's good, thanks for asking. If she knew I was seeing you, she would have told me to say hi. How's Gaia?"

"Doing well. Getting married next month."

"Congratulations." He turns his attention to Clarke. "Ms. Griffin."

Her mouth twitches. "Mr. Blake. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Really? Because I've been doing this for twelve years and I've never seen you, so I'm not sure why you're the one with expectations."

Indra, sensing blood in the water, excuses herself, but Clarke just cocks her head, looking curious. "Twelve years?"

"Since I was seventeen."

"Huh."

He's expecting her to say more, but when she doesn't, it's up to him. "So, what are you doing here?"

"My daughter is in the league, they said they needed coaches."

It's the most common explanation for how and why people end up here, but he has some follow-up questions. He and Clarke haven't ever traded demographic details, but he's always assumed she's a little younger than he is, probably fresh out of college when she started teaching a few years back. It's not impossible for her to be a mother, but unless she's a lot older than he thought or had a child when she was a teenager herself, he doesn't know how she has a daughter old enough to be in a middle-school soccer league.

Not that he's ever going to judge anyone for having an unconventional family, but he's not sure what configuration hers is in.

Her entire face has closed off, though, just daring him to ask, so he doesn't give her the satisfaction. "Yeah, they definitely do. How old is your daughter?"

"Staring seventh grade in the fall."

"So I wouldn't have met her last year."

"Nope, we're both new. How did you get involved?"

"My sister was playing, I got the same letter you did about needing coaches. She was pretty pissed at me, said I was being an overprotective asshole and just doing it because she was playing, so I kept doing it after she quit to show her she was wrong."

"You've been coaching middle-school summer soccer for twelve years to prove to your sister that you aren't an overprotective asshole?" Clarke asks, dubious, and he smirks.

"Only child?"

"Rational human being."

"Same thing."

She snorts, which is gratifying. "You must like it a little."

"I do, yeah. The first few years after O quit, it was kind of a pain, but once I started teaching, I was really happy I kept with it. It's a good chance to get to know the kids before they start high school. Get them a little more comfortable with me."

"I can see that."

"What's your daughter's name?" he asks. 

"Madison. Madi."

"I assume she's already at Eden." They start with kindergarten and go all the way through to high school; Bellamy gets the idea, he does, but he can't help feeling like it's not good for kids, to be with the same peer group for so long. 

He might also be biased, obviously. But he remembers when he started high school and it felt like the world opening up, and the same thing happening in college. It was good for him. But he never tried it the other way.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No."

Clarke rolls her eyes, so he must not sell it. "It's a good school."

"If you can afford it, yeah."

"Or get a scholarship."

"You have to know you need a scholarship, and how to study for the entrance exams, and--"

"I know. Madi could do that. You think I should have stopped her?"

"No," he admits.

It looks like Clarke is thinking about saying something more, but Charles comes up to the podium and clears his throat, and the gathered group turns their attention to him. 

At this point, the opening spiel is pretty standard for Bellamy. He knows his responsibilities as a coach, what he can and cannot do, so he zones out, which mostly means watching Clarke out of the corner of his eye. She's not literally taking notes, but he recognizes the look of extreme concentration, like she's committing every word to memory.

It would make sense, if the lecture was actually important, but there are about three things worth retaining in there, and they're pretty much just common sense.

But Clarke takes things seriously, almost to a fault. If he liked her more, it would be endearing; as it is, it's still kind of endearing, and all the more irritating because of it.

Seriously, he doesn't need to be dealing with Clarke over the summer too. He doesn't need a second more of Clarke Griffin in his life.

It's easy to tell himself it won't really be a big deal, because he doesn't interact that much with the other coaches. They have practice three days a week and then games on Saturdays, but he'll be busy with his own team.

He probably won't see her that much. He can definitely avoid her.

All he has to do is convince himself he wants to.

*

Madison Griffin is on Clarke's team, the Lions. It's not a surprise--Charles tries to assign kids to their parents' teams, even if Bellamy isn't sure it's a good idea--but it's a little disappointing. Bellamy knows almost nothing about Clarke's personal life, and he's a little curious to find out more. In theory, her daughter is a good resource, but he can't really just approach Madi with questions. He doesn't want to be the creepy guy trying to get intel on her mom.

He just kind of wants intel on her mom. It doesn't _have_ to be creepy.

His own team is the usual mix of familiar and unfamiliar names, returning players and new, with a few siblings of either old players or current students of his. For the most part, the known quantities are good kids, and as long as none of the new ones are convinced they're star players, he thinks they should be a pretty strong team.

Which might be a bad thing, honestly, because Clarke is here now, and he knows her team is pretty decent too. Their previous coach had been one of those intense, overly invested parents who believed that any even minor failure would keep his child out of the Ivy League, and he'd pushed them way too hard. Even at seventeen, Bellamy had known that no college would care about a middle-school soccer league's actual _record_ ; if the kids are good enough, they'll go on to play in high school, and those that aren't can still put it as an extracurricular for as long as they play without saying how they did.

Bellamy is stupidly competitive as a personality trait, so obviously he'd made sure that his team beat the Lions at least once last year, but they're still good and disciplined, and will be even with a rookie coach, they'll be something to be reckoned with.

And Clarke is competitive too, which is what really concerns him, and why he actually goes so far as to call her.

As he expected, it goes to voice mail--he got her cell number off the team list, but he doesn't expect she got his--and he takes a breath, reminding himself of his lines. "Hey, it's Bellamy. Mr. Blake," he adds, because he might always think of her as _Clarke_ , at least privately, but they always call each other by titles. "I wanted to talk to you about the soccer league. I know we get kind of stupid about debate, but we probably shouldn't do the same thing with this, so, uh--call me back when you get the chance. Just this number is fine."

She calls back almost immediately, which he hadn't been sure would happen, but odds seemed good. They're close enough to the same age to share phone habits.

"Hey, Ms. Griffin."

She snorts. "I think you can probably call me Clarke."

"Hey, Clarke."

"Hey, Bellamy. You think we get stupid about debate?"

"You don't?"

"I think we take it very seriously."

He snorts. "Yeah, sure, we can go with that."

"And you don't want us to do that with soccer?"

Her tone is casual, but something about it stops him short. For all it's frustrating to lose to Clarke, it's still more fun losing to her than it is winning against anyone else. It's so rare to find people who are as passionate as he is.

"I don't want us to take it out on the kids," he says, careful. "This is a fun, summer thing with no stakes. We don't need to put too much pressure on them."

There's a pause as she thinks it over. "What does that mean?"

It's actually a difficult question to answer. He'd assumed Clarke would agree to tone it done immediately, because she knows how they are. But it's not as if he doesn't want his team to win, or that he won't be encouraging them. That's part of what coaching _is_. But he also knows the soccer kids don't care about the league in the same way his debate team kids care about debate, or how all of his students should care about grades and AP exams.

He settles on, "I try to base how competitive I am on how competitive the kids are. No matter how I feel about the other coaches. I don't want us to ruin their summer with some shitty over-investment. This isn't important enough to stress them out about."

Clarke hums. "So you want to just turn off your competitive urges? Does it work like that?"

"Maybe this can just be about us," he finally says.

"Meaning?"

"Fuck, I don't know. You're not worried about this?"

It's her turn to pause. "Aren't your kids always pretty competitive?"

"Yeah. Usually I'm the one trying to rein them in."

She laughs. "I'm having trouble imagining you reining in competitive impulses."

"It was my sister, honestly."

"She's--five years younger?"

"Yeah. And just as competitive as I am, maybe more. Definitely, uh--less scrupulous about it."

"So, your sister tried to cheat at peewee soccer and you decided you were a bad influence?"

"When I called her out, she threw back some shit I said in inspirational speeches back at me, so I thought I should tone it down. I didn't want to give her ammunition."

"And now you don't want to fall into bad habits again?"

"It's not worth it."

"Not like debate."

"Sorry, are you disagreeing? You think I should be all-in on this?"

"No. But I haven't done this before, I have no idea how it's going to be. Madi's competitive too, I don't think she's going to need much encouragement to take this seriously."

"So don't make it worse for her," he says.

"Thanks for the tip."

Bellamy rubs his face, wishing he could see her expression. Doing this on the phone seemed easier, but now he thinks he should have asked if she wanted to get a drink or something.

Maybe there just wasn't a good way to do this.

"I'm not saying you're going to--" He huffs. "I just think we should try not to get carried away. If our teams pick up on us not liking each other, they'll run with it, and I don't think that's a good idea."

"So, we're still going to be competitive, we just have to make sure the kids don't know?"

"Not being competitive seems unrealistic."

She laughs again; he's not sure he's ever heard her laugh so much in their entire acquaintance, up to this point. "Yeah, you're right. So we just have to be subtle."

"Subtle," he agrees, with an incongruous sinking feeling in his stomach. "That's us."

*

It actually doesn't go wrong right away. He's continually aware of Clarke, like she's got some kind of internal homing device that's always telling him where she is, but that's not entirely _bad_. At first, he's curious to see how she'll do, if she'll have any aptitude for this, and once it becomes clear she _does_ , he wants to know how good she is. 

And he's still curious about Madi too. It's not hard to figure out which one of the girls on Clarke's team is her daughter, despite the total lack of family resemblance--the two of them come in together and leave together, and while Clarke doesn't favor her on the field, he can see her fretting sometimes about her getting enough food and water.

His best guess is that Madi is adopted, probably fairly recently, and that makes him wonder too. Was she at Eden already, and Clarke adopted her out of there in some kind of weird, _Matilda_ -esque situation? Did Clarke just decide she wanted to adopt? As far as he knows, she's single, and he doesn't know a lot of young women who just decide to be single mothers out of nowhere.

If he were slightly more competent, he'd just ask Clarke about it, but instead he finds out most of the story from overhearing other people gossiping, which means he finds out he's right about the adoption, but feels kind of like a dick about it.

He does talk to Clarke about other things sometimes, but it's always a little--odd. They're on their best behavior, but instead of feeling like he's being mature and reasonable, it just kind of sucks. Somehow, being a responsible adult with Clarke is so much worse than sniping and teasing. They're perfectly friendly and polite with each other, but it's all a facade, fake manners covering--well, he's not sure what.

He feels a lot more genuine with her when they're fighting about debate club guidelines, which is why it's such a stupid relief when they end up screaming at each other over their first official match.

It's the third week of games, and although they haven't started the formal tournament yet, Bellamy knows that both Clarke's Lions and his Falcons are both undefeated. 

He spends the morning telling himself the game doesn't matter and he's going to be invested in it a normal amount. He reminds himself, over and over, that Clarke isn't actually his enemy, and none of this is a big deal. He hates the people who act like losses in these games matter. The tournament doesn't even matter, let alone random pickup games.

But he's not worried about their record, or anyone's chances at getting into a good college. He just likes beating Clarke.

"So, we're going to be normal today, right?" he asks her, before the game starts. He's twitching with nervous energy, but he can pretend.

Clarke smiles into her cup of iced coffee. "Very normal," she agrees, and that turns out to be true, because it takes them about ten minutes before they're yelling at each other about minor rules violation, which is the most normal they've been with each other since this whole thing started. Polite small-talk and careful phrasing is bizarre for them.

This is where they thrive.

Madi wasn't starting, which means that before anyone can _win_ the argument, she comes over to demand, "Seriously, Clarke?"

 _Clarke_ , some part of his brain notes. Madi still calls her Clarke.

Clarke blinks like she's waking up. "What?"

"It's not a big deal, you guys can stop." She squints at Bellamy. "I thought she was exaggerating."

It's his first time actually talking to Madi, and it's a little unnerving to realize that she's probably been studying him as he's studying her. Apparently, she knows who he is, and he can't decide if it's weird or flattering. Probably all she's heard is Clarke complaining about him, but that doesn't actually put a damper on his odd giddiness about the whole thing.

"Exaggerating what, exactly?" he asks.

"How much you guys fight. You were doing so well!"

"He was on his best behavior," says Clarke, looking smug as anything.

" _I_ was on my best behavior? You--"

"Weren't the one worrying about us fighting," says Clarke, innocent.

"So you don't care?"

"I knew it was a lost cause."

"Good for you." He wets his lips, turns his attention to Madi. "I don't think we actually ever got introduced. You're Madi, right?"

"And you're Mr. Blake."

"Is that really what she calls me?" he asks Clarke.

"No, but she said that's what I should call you. You're a teacher."

"Not your teacher. You can call me Bellamy." He glances at Clarke. "Uh, if that's cool."

She just smiles. "Except when he's being an authority figure."

"That's basically never," he says. "Sorry we, uh--sorry we're like this."

"Are you going to stop?" Madi asks.

"If the ref stops making bad calls," says Clarke, and Madi groans.

"Please just don't be embarrassing."

"No promises. I'm subbing you and Lena in for Tess and Val, sound good?"

"As long as I get away from you guys," says Madi, and Bellamy has to smile.

"What did you tell her about me?"

"Honestly, you were a lifesaver."

He frowns. "How so?"

Clarke watches Madi run onto the field with a wistful smile. "She took a while to warm up to me, so I just started telling her stories. She didn't like the ones about students as much, but she really liked hearing about annoying Mr. Blake."

"Oh, _I'm_ annoying?" he asks, but he can't keep the smile off his face.

"Everyone's the hero of their own story, Bellamy."

He has some questions about that, but he's more interested in Madi right now. "When did you adopt her?"

"My first year teaching."

He whistles; his first year teaching was bad enough with just Octavia in college to worry about. "Wanted to keep busy?" 

"Something like that. I was supposed to just be doing fostering, I thought it would help me get better with kids."

"So what happened?"

"Madi needed a home and I wanted to give her one."

"I'm glad I could help you guys bond, I guess."

"She was pretty disappointed when she actually met you."

"I get that a lot." Clarke snorts, and he smiles. "Why this time?"

"I think from what I'd said she was expecting some stodgy old white guy. Classic teen-movie villain. And then she found out you were--" She pauses, eyes sweeping over him, as if she's cataloging all the ways in which he's not a stodgy old white guy. "You," she settles on, and warmth pools in his stomach.

"Sorry I let her down."

"At least we had a fight. Otherwise she probably would have decided I was lying about everything."

"And we'll probably have another one soon."

He doesn't mean _immediately_ , but one of the Lions so clearly fouls Martina, and the ref says nothing, and before he knows it, he's objecting again, and Clarke is objecting right back.

But when she catches his eye, she smiles, and he smiles right back and keeps on yelling.

Perfect.

*

The good thing about his and Clarke's arguments is that they manage to not be about winning or losing or even the players, which means no one seems to really take them personally. Bellamy's only concern was them putting too much pressure on the kids, but as long as they don't involve them, he's fine with yelling his throat hoarse at Clarke. 

During the school year, that's the sum total of their interactions, so the debate team assumes Clarke is his mortal enemy, but the weird thing about soccer is that they have all this other time when they're just--hanging out. Chatting about teams and school and their lives, like friends, so that's what the rest of the soccer league thinks they are. Rivalry becomes less the defining point of their relationship and more a personality quirk, something they have in common, at least as other people see it.

And Bellamy can admit that he's starting to see it that way too. Clarke is like he thought, in a lot of ways, a child of privilege with a fancy private education, but she's also driven and smart and engaging. Their backgrounds might be different, but they still have a lot in common.

He likes her so much more than he expected, and it feels like everyone can tell. It's probably better than everyone thinking he hates her, but it's been a good couple years since he had a crush, and it's inconvenient. 

Especially when the summer's going to end, and he's going to go back to resenting her once the school year starts.

The thought occurs to him during a game against the Dragons, and he finds himself looking for Clarke automatically. She's on the other side of the field, watching her own team's match against the Bears, calling something at one of her players, and the mere sight of her makes his heart lurch.

Somehow, he actually fell for Clarke Griffin. It's even worse than he thought. And he has no idea what to do with it. 

"You could ask her out," Monty suggests, that night. "Or just ask her to come out with us sometime. It doesn't even have to be a date."

"She has a kid."

"And?" 

He rubs his face. "And that makes it hard to do social stuff. She probably doesn't even have time to date."

"That's bullshit," says Emori. "You could at least _ask_. Babysitters exist. If she wants to go out with you--"

"That's the basic issue, yeah," he says, with a sigh. "If she wants to."

She shakes her head. "You're acting like this is a bad thing. You need to see it as an opportunity."

"Opportunity?" Miller asks, which at least saves Bellamy doing it.

"At least an advantage," Emori says. "You can ask her out, and she has an easy out if she's not interested. She says she's busy with the kid, and you can just take that as a no and move on."

"And if she says yes, she likes you enough to figure out childcare," Monty agrees, nodding. "Yeah, okay. I'm with Emori. The daughter is a great way to tell yourself she'd go out with you if she was less busy."

He has to smile. "Even though we established that if she wanted to go out with me, she'd make it work."

"Lying to yourself is a very important part of dating," Monty says, and Miller snorts.

"Thanks, I think."

"You're welcome."

"I don't even remember the last time I went on a date," Bellamy admits. "And just because I like her now doesn't mean she doesn't still think I'm a dick."

"Yeah," says Miller. "So you can not say anything, and the summer ends, and you're back to seeing her, what, once a week? For like five minutes if your teams aren't competing. Sound good?"

He puts his head down on the table. "I hate you."

"I hate you too," Miller says. "Are we going to terraform Mars or just keep on listening to you whine?"

"We can probably listen to him whine _while_ we terraform Mars," says Monty. "Do you think she likes board games? You could always ask her out on a date _with_ her daughter. That gets brownie points, right?"

"Isn't soccer already kind of a date with her daughter?" asks Emori.

"I can't believe I brought this up. I'll talk to her," he adds, mostly to shut them up. And because, like Miller said, if he doesn't talk to her, this just _ends_. And if he does talk to her, she might say yes.

She might not, too, but it's possible; that can be enough to think about for now.

*

When he sees her the next week, all of the words he'd thought about saying to her fall out of his head. He'd been planning to mention that he and his friends were getting drinks, casual, a good way to scope her out, but now he can't help thinking it's too risky. They have another month left of the league, and if she says no to spending time with him today, then it will be different, after.

He can treasure this last month, and then he can figure out where to go with the next year.

It's a good, solid plan, and he doesn't even feel like he's being a coward by putting it off. The status quo is fine for now.

But, as always, Clarke can't just let him have his way. She finds him during cleanup and says, "Hey, are you busy on Wednesday after practice?"

"Depends on what you mean by _busy_." She raises her eyebrows, and he clarifies, "I'm working on getting my masters', so I have homework and stuff, but it's pretty easy to rearrange if I need to."

"It's Madi's birthday and apparently she assumed I already invited you to the party."

"Really?" he asks, before he can stop himself. "I mean--she wants me there?"

"She always makes me invite friends," says Clarke, looking fondly over to where Madi and Claire are chatting about something. "I think she doesn't want me to be bored, or feel like I always have to be the only responsible adult. If you can't come, it's not a big deal, I know it's short notice. But she wanted me to ask."

"No, that sounds fun, I could come."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he feels like an idiot, because there's no universe in which Madi's thirteenth birthday party should be fun for him, as an adult. But Clarke is asking him to hang out, even if it's on Madi's behalf, it's encouraging. Any more time he gets to spend with her is a win, in his book.

He'd say he's not sure how this happened, but it's actually pretty easy to plot the course of his feelings. Clarke is intelligent and passionate and smart and they don't have to be on the _same_ side, but as soon as they're not actually in conflict, it's easy to see all her good parts. It makes so much sense, that he fell for her.

"Okay, I'll text you the address. Or you can just follow us on Wednesday."

"Should I bring a present?"

"Definitely."

"Any suggestions other than soccer stuff?"

"Legos are pretty safe. A set in the thirty to fifty range, maybe? Anything with an animal is good."

"Is she going to have it already?"

"I usually buy her the big ones, so you should be safe. You can also just write her a check in that range and she'll be happy. Cash is cash."

"Cool." He pauses. "Do you actually want me to come?"

"What?"

"If Madi's making you ask, you can just tell her I'm busy."

"If I didn't want you to come, I'd tell you." She's still looking at Madi, but he can see a little color rising on her neck. "It would be nice to hang out more, right?"

"Right." He lets himself grin while she's not looking at him. "I'll be there."

*

"I realized if you follow us, you're going to be really early," Clarke tells him on Wednesday. "But if you don't follow us, you have kind of an awkward amount of time to fill. So you can either come help set up or hang out and do your own thing."

"Can I actually help or is that going to be more stressful?"

She smiles, looking genuinely pleased by the question. "I think you can probably help. But you don't have to."

"This is all I've got going on for the rest of the day. I don't mind."

"Then yeah, we'd be happy to have you."

He and Clarke texted a couple times about the party, so he knows that he bought Madi a Lego set she does not currently own and also that Clarke has a pool and it's a pool party, which he doesn't consider to be the best news. He knows he looks good in a swimsuit and he assumes Clarke does too, but he feels bad enough for thinking of this as an opportunity to flirt with her without adding swimwear to the mix.

He's going to be helpful and cool and ideally figure out if Clarke wants to be friends or more than friends or less than friends.

It shouldn't be that hard.

Clarke's got a nice house on the outskirts of town, smaller than he was expecting, with a well kept lawn and a couple big trees. If he lived somewhere like this, he'd probably want a kid too. Just so someone could properly enjoy it.

Madi runs inside immediately, but Clarke has stuff in the back, so Bellamy helps her with it. It's mostly chips and soda, standard kid-party food, and Bellamy takes all of it without difficulty, despite Clarke's protests.

"It's heavy."

"I'm really ripped."

"Since when?"

"High school. I started lifting weights to get out of playing a team sport."

"And now you're an expert in lifting heavy objects?"

"It's a few liters of soda, not a car. I said I'd help out, this isn't even hard."

"Sorry I don't have challenging enough party prep for you," she teases.

"Yeah, give me an engine to haul or something."

The inside of the house isn't quite as well-kept as the outside, but it's been cleaned up for company and looks pretty good. Clarke leads him into the kitchen and starts stowing bottles while Bellamy surreptitiously checks out the space more. The fridge is covered in pictures and drawings, he thinks both Madi's and Clarke's, and there's a lot of light and open space.

"I wish I'd had somewhere like this when my sister was growing up."

"Not when you were growing up?" she asks, without turning her attention from the junk food.

"Same thing."

"Is it?"

There's an odd note of challenge in her voice, and he leans his forearms on the island, watching her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whenever you talk about growing up, it's about how your sister deserved better. If she did, you did too. It's not just her."

"Like I said, it would have been better for me too." It's deliberately missing the point, but engaging with the point is too much for him right now. 

Clarke apparently knows it. "Yeah, but--you know what I mean."

"I do." He clears his throat. "You know why I didn't like you?"

"I thought it was a combination of factors, but money was a lot of it."

"Not just money. But--you guys are a lot better off than we are. Eden, I mean. It never seemed like you got that."

"I probably don't. I'm doing my best, but I haven't spent much time at Ark." she glances over her shoulder. "How was I supposed to get that? Like--what does me getting that look like to you?"

"Realize you were the bad guys. I know how stupid that sounds."

"I'm just wondering what I was supposed to do with that information."

"I don't know. I guess I've always been the underdog. I don't know how you're supposed to be proud of beating the underdogs."

"Okay, but--you're not the underdogs to me."

"No?"

"You're the best team in the league, aside from us." She grins. "I'm proud when we beat you because it's _hard_ , Bellamy. It would be a pretty shitty rivalry if we were just better than you, but we aren't. I know we have resources you guys don't, and that sucks. But you're the scariest team we ever face."

"Thanks?"

"I'll try to compliment you more from now on." She tucks her hair behind her ears, watching him from where she's leaning against the counter. "Did you stop not liking me?"

"What?"

"You said you didn't like me. Do you still not like me?"

"I like you," he says. "I still want to beat you at every competition, but--"

She laughs. "Obviously, yeah."

He wets his lips, trying to come up with the words. It feels like the right time for it, the natural progression of this conversation, where he clarifies just how much he likes her, and she might be okay with it.

She might even like him back.

The doorbell rings before he can say anything, and Clarke sighs. "I really hope that's Raven."

"Raven?"

"One of my friends. If it's not her, it's probably a real guest showing up early and I have to deal with a kid."

"How many other adults are coming to this?" he asks, following her to the door.

"Just my friend Wells and my coworker Maya. Too many adults and it's kind of awkward."

"This seems complicated."

"I can't always follow Madi's lead, but this is pretty easy. Then she's having fun, not worrying I'm bored." She opens the door for a gorgeous woman, who spares Clarke barely a glance before turning her full attention to Bellamy.

"This is the history teacher?" she asks, without taking her eyes off him.

"Bellamy," Clarke supplies.

"Huh." She offers her hand. "Raven."

He shakes. "Nice to meet you."

"You too. You're helping out?"

"He has muscles I didn't know about," says Clarke, and Raven rolls her eyes.

"Well, whose fault is that?"

On the one hand, it feels like he's missing part of the conversation, but on the other, he thinks the part of the conversation that he's missing is the part where Clarke has been telling her friends about him, and possibly telling her friends that she wants to see his muscles.

So that's not bad news.

"Where's the birthday girl?" Raven asks, and the conversation moves on from him. But Raven does keep coming back, asking the kind of casually probing questions you ask when your friend has a new romantic interest and you're trying to see if they're a good fit. And he honestly thinks he does pretty well--if the party is a test, he's passing with flying colors. He helps Clarke as much as she needs, gets along well with Madi and her friends, and chats just as easily with Clarke and Raven, and Wells and Maya when they show up.

And when Madi goes to have a sleepover at a friend's after the party, Bellamy is the one who volunteers to help Clarke clean up, and everyone else leaves.

It's suddenly so fucking easy.

"So, that was me getting vetted?"

"Kind of," says Clarke, with a shrug that's not quite as easy as she wants it to be. "It's not like they have veto power, but they did want to meet you. And if you said something really shitty to one of my friends I'd probably stop liking you."

He hands her the box with the remaining cake to put into the fridge. "And?"

"And I still like you."

"So, my thing where I was going to wait to ask you out until the end of the summer was stupid, right?"

"Why the end of the summer?"

"In case you said no. I didn't want to miss out on the last month of hanging out with you."

"That's sweet, not stupid," she says, closing the fridge and coming over to slide her arms around his neck. "But you didn't need to worry."

He grins. "No?"

"There was no way I was giving you up at the end of the summer."

"Good," he says, and when he kisses her, she kisses back.

Just like he knew she would.

*

The soccer league ends with a tournament neither of their teams wins and they don't have to play each other, which Bellamy thinks is probably for the best. Their relationship is going well, but it's still new, and he's not convinced they're ready for direct competition yet.

"Were you going to dump me if you lost?" Clarke teases, when he tells her that.

"Depends on how badly I lost," he says, with a straight face, and when she laughs, he kisses her.

He's never planning to dump her. He's already so into her.

The debate club starting back up seems like a bigger hurdle, mostly because they never really got that bad about soccer. Soccer was the good part of their relationship, even if they fought like cats and dogs during every game. But debate was how they started hating each other, and Bellamy can't help worrying that it's going to be different, or maybe the same.

The last thing he wants is to fuck this up.

"Okay, we're going up against Eden today," he tells the students. "Everyone ready?"

"Aren't you going to tell us that they're the worst and have to take them down?" asks Renee.

"I figured you knew."

"That never stopped you before. Mr. Blake _hates_ the Eden debate teacher," she adds, for the freshmen on the team.

"I don't hate her." Luckily, this is his standard line. As a responsible adult, he's not supposed to hate other teachers. It's just even more true now than it was last year.

"Sorry, they're _rivals_ ," says Renee. "That's the official story."

"The schools are rivals," says Joel. "Mr. Blake and Ms. Griffin have their own weird thing going."

It's the closet any of them have come to the truth so far, but he's not going to tell them that. "Which is why we're going to beat Eden, right?" he asks. "Don't let me down, guys."

"Yeah, yeah," says Renee. "We want to beat them too. Don't worry."

It's good advice he can't quite take until he actually _sees_ Clarke at the competition the next day. They came over separately because she had to drop Madi off, but he walked and he's planning to go home with her, so the first time they meet is before the debate itself, and he's fretting basically non-stop until then. He knows it's stupid, but he can't help it.

"Mr. Blake," she says, with a polite nod.

"Ms. Griffin." He leans against the wall next to her, watching the students get ready. "How was your summer?"

"Amazing."

He bites back on a grin. "Yeah?"

"Best in a while. You?"

"Same, actually."

"Lucky us."

And just like that, all his worries fade away. Debate isn't going to ruin them; they're going to be fine. They're happy. "We're going to crush you," he says, and she laughs.

"Bring it on."

**Author's Note:**

> oh oops meant to link this and forgot, I'm doing charity fundraising again! info [here](http://ponyregrets.tumblr.com/post/175506703724/ponyregrets-hey-guys-remember-how-last-year).


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